Past the Point
Hi. My name is Will Faith, and I want to tell you a story. It began with the death of my parents. I was 13 years old, and I loved them with all my heart and soul. They were caring, loving, and fair. Any kid would be proud of them. Then one day, I was picked up early from school by my uncle, Liam. I saw that he had been crying. His eyes were red and puffy, and when I walked out of the office, I saw the secretary give me a sad glance. When we were in the car, I asked him what was wrong. He said that my parents had been killed in a car accident earlier that day. After that day, I went to live with my uncle and aunt, Stephanie. They lived in town, so I could keep going to the same school, and they had 3 kids, Joseph, who was my age, Adam, who was 16, and Kodi, who was 14. I was an only child, so I could pretend they were my brothers and sisters. It wasn't all bad. But underneath, that sadness was still there. I had buried it deep, but it was waiting to re-emerge. When I reached sophomore year, people had all but forgotten I was an orphan. I had friends, good grades, and even a caring and loving girlfriend. I was pretty popular, and I did sports. I was tall, about 6'3, with red hair and fair skin. But sometimes, an image would pop into my head. Sometimes, it was just a memory, a day that I had gone to the zoo with my parents, or a Christmas morning, and I would feel tears threaten to break through. I learned to blink them away, or just think of something else. Then, they started. The Dreams. They started small, often just interrupting a dream I was having. They were memories, my happiest memories, but often tinged. My parents wore fake smiles, or everyone else would look at us angrily, like we didn't belong. Often, I woke up to tear-soaked sheets or would wake up in the middle of one and cry silently. The sadness, the loss, it was just too much. I felt like no one could help. No one knew what it was like, to lose everything. I tried to let the pain out in any way. Self-harm. It didn't work, the scars only became like a magnet to more sadness. Purging. I would eat my food, then go into the bathroom and throw it up. Well, that was fucking gross, and I like food. Then, I found the only way. Drugs. It started small, in my Junior year of high school. My friend offered me a weed cigarette, and I thought,'' Well, I'll try'', and it worked. When I was high, everything went away. Immediately, I turned to it for everything. I had a job working at a bookstore, and my income went towards getting more. I managed to hide it in high school, but by college, I was a full-fledged addict. It was then that the sadness turned to anger.'' They left me, I thought, they knew this would happen and left. Then, I broke. After 8 years of sadness and anger, I snapped. It happened in a class. I had been up all night studying, (despite my drug use, I had tried to keep my grades up, sometimes unsuccessfully), and I had fallen asleep in class. My professor had knocked on my head to wake me up, then asked me what was wrong with me. I started laughing. "Oh, if you only knew," I said, laughing. "If you only knew." After that, I got up and walked out. Two days later, the professor was found in a sitting in his desk, his throat slit. His hands had been attached to a book called All But Los''t. His hands had been stabbed to it with pencils. On the chalkboard behind him, the words 'WHAT'S WRONG?' had been written in his blood. Oddly enough, I'm not the one that did it. I remember walking towards the professor's office, wanting to come clean and tell him everything, to apologize for what happened that day, and I remember leaving, feeling oddly satisfied to get those feelings off my chest, but the conversation was all but lost to me. I remember walking past his room the next day and seeing his silhouette sitting in his desk, reading. I wanted to say hi to him, but something stopped me. Later that night, I had a conversation in my room with a man. He said his name was Will Faith, just like me. He appeared to me, told me he was just like me, and that he knew what could help me with the pain. When I asked him what, he simply smiled and said, "You know." And I do know. But I assure you, nothing is wrong with me. I'm just a little sad. Category:Mental Illness Category:Dreams/Sleep